


Wondrous Tails of 2020

by Imagine_Nation



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Multi, Other, Sibling Bonding, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagine_Nation/pseuds/Imagine_Nation
Summary: These are my entries for the Wondrous Tails event being held on Tumblr by darthsuki. (Discontinued)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 2





	1. A Cup of Tea for Your Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My entry for the "Insomnia" prompt.

Being a light sleeper is not one of the Botan’s inherent traits. It is very much a learned skill, one cultivated out of need rather than want in case of any sudden emergencies. Though, as Botan very quickly discovered, there is always a sudden emergency when one is the Warrior of Light.

She supposes that such a habit has worsened her occasional bouts of insomnia. She already doesn’t get much sleep, always needing to be up and at it in a moment’s notice, but tonight it seems she won’t be getting any rest whatsoever. And not for lack of trying either; for once, rather than being hounded by nightmares, her body and mind are just overtired and buzzing with left over energy and frazzled nerves.

Botan thusly finds herself behind the bar in the Rising Stones, brewing herself a cup of tea with a pot of bubbling milk. It took her several minutes to figure out all the buttons and gears to make the thing work, but she managed it and now a hot cup of tea. Botan takes a whiff and smiles at the satisfying scent; she’ll this over that horrid, bitter thing known as coffee any day.

The sound of footsteps reverberates within her horns, but she merely glances up to see who it is – Nijoh’ir, looking ragged and upset – and immediately sets to grabbing another cup.

Nijoh’ir groans and rubs his eyes. _Fucking nightmares_. Since becoming a Warrior of Light, night terrors have ever plagued Nijoh’ir’s slumber, and they are only abated when he truly feels safe. Recent events have unfortunately made that impossible.

His ears twitch at the sound of something boiling and is surprised to see Botan standing there, looking just as exhausted but not as haunted. Still, he can’t help being concerned. “…Hey,” his voice is quiet as he approaches the bar, ”you having nightmares too?”

Botan shakes her head. “Mm-mm. I am simply overtired.” She can feel Nijoh’ir staring at her and she knows he’s trying to discern whether she’s lying. The huff of breath she hears lets her know he believes her. “Whatcha making?” He asks, looking at the pot curiously. “Steppe tea,” the Raen replies. “Miss Ghoa taught me how to make it.”

Nijoh’ir knows few women who are as fierce and loving as Amasar’s mother. The first time she hugged Botan she ordered her son to gather baras meat for a veritable feast, since apparently Botan was “too thin”. To say that the young girl was intimidated by the sheer amount of meat would have been an understatement. The memory makes Nijoh’ir chuckle.

The gentle _tink_ of a teacup being set on the counter grabs the bard’s attention. The smell of sweet tea hits his nose, and with a thankful smile, he takes a sip. The creamy taste makes him groan in relief, and he can already feel his body relaxing. “Mm, this is good! Did you add something to it? I don’t recall it being this sweet.”

Botan’s lip quirks upwards. “I might have added a bit of honey to it.”

For a brief moment, in this short window of quiet companionship, their worries are nonexistent.


	2. A Fish a Day Keeps All Sense Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My fill for the "Beast Tribes" prompt.

Nijoh’ir looks down at his bag with the saddest expression that Botan has ever seen. It looks like the face of someone who has just been told that their pet had died. His ears are slightly drooped and Botan resists the urge to pat him on the head. Gyodo stands a few feet away, seeming… not really apologetic, more like waiting for the right moment to express his most (in)sincere apologies, as if that would alleviate the situation. With a face like that, Botan has a hard time discerning his intentions or that of any Namazu.

Botan looks at the Namazu, then back at Nijoh’ir, and continues glancing between the two parties as she tries to determine whether or not she should clean out his now-barf bag and leave him with the diminutive fish, or give him a break and allow her to handle Gyodo herself. As is her nature, she decides to take on the greater burden herself and spare Nijoh’ir any further anguish.

“Nijoh-nii, why don’t you go and, ah, clean out your bag? I’ll remain here and keep an eye on our… friends.” She says the last word like it’s the very last thing she thinks to say. “I’ll make sure everything is in order when you return.”

Nijoh’ir slowly looks up at her like she just saved his very soul, then nods and plods off with sack in hand. He is not even yalms away when a sudden shriek is heard and Botan whirls around to Gyoshin currently aflame and hopping about with Matoya’s tome in his… hands? Fins? Tiny appendages? Whatever they are, Botan quickly grabs the book and promptly puts out the fire.

Alas, there is no reprieve as Gyoshin and Gyofun – she will _not_ be calling him “Seigetsu the Enlightened" – quickly get into a squabble about live sacrifices and averting disasters. She has long ceased seriously considering the words of these sneaky salmon. At least Gyorei has _some_ sense. Botan hopes that are more like her within the tribe, otherwise this collaborative venture has been doomed from the start.

She now understands why Nijoh’ir and Amasar had earlier considered helping the Namazu with great trepidation. She pinches the bridge of her nose and prays to whatever higher power is listening that her brother figure will be back, and _soon_. She isn’t sure if she can further handle these blasted fish without wanting to break something.

She hears footsteps, whirls around, and is elated to see Nijoh’ir returning with what seems to be a much cleaner sack. “Everything alright here?” He asks, though his tone of voice suggests that he already knows the answer.

Botan turns back to the Namazu and finds them tossing dolls into the burning effigy. Huh. That was a quick resolution. “Well, after saving Gyoshin from being burned alive and helping resolve an argument about living sacrifices to avert a horrid disaster that may or may not occur seven years from now, I think I can safely say that yes, everything is alright now.”

Nijoh’ir, seeing the strained smile, pats the small Raen on the head. “Yeah, you’ll get used to it.


	3. Solace in Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My third entry for the Wondrous Tails event, based on the prompt "Comforting each other".

It has been a long time since Botan has felt so… destabilized (yes, that’s the correct word for it).

Being suddenly bereft of her long-time allies has left her floundering and silently scrambling for some kind of proverbial platform to stand on and get her thoughts in order. But there is no rest of the righteous, and Botan has barely had any time to breathe, let alone think. And now she’s needing to prepare for the upcoming “parley” with the one and only Emperor Varis zos Galvus so that everyone else has enough time to prepare for a Garlean assault. The mountain of tasks that she bears, and will continue to bear, gives her a headache.

But none of that can compare to the moment of brief, yet potent panic that surges in her chest when she sees Alphinaud, forced into the same slumber as the others, being carried by this so-called Shadowhunter (and he’s never looked so  _ small _ ).

The whole time Shadowhunter -- no,  _ Gaius van Baelsar _ , the Undying Wolf -- speaks, Botan steals glances at Alisaie, gauging her reactions and facial expressions. In all the time they’ve known each other, Alisaie has shown herself to be poorly skilled in the art of the poker face, and she is as easy to read as a picture book. The elezen woman keeps looking in the direction of Doma, as though hoping her brother will miraculously arise from his sleep and come running with a plan at the ready. Admittedly, Botan has to restrain herself from doing the same thing. Being forced to continue without Alphinaud’s presence despite him being right here, with no guarantee for his well-being, leaves the warrior feeling more alone than she’s felt in a long time.  _ It is a cruel joke _ , she thinks to herself,  _ a cruel, cruel joke _ .

Gaius eventually leaves, and everyone returns to Doma to think over everything. Botan steps outside the Kienkan after a brief discussion and takes a moment to simply… walk, and take a moment of peace and quiet for herself. The sky is a dark gray, a sign of oncoming rain, but Botan pays it no mind. It is nice, even relieving, to have the opportunity to walk mindlessly and without purpose.

She eventually finds herself at the docks, looking out towards the graying waters. Her mind drifts to the moment when she saw Alphinaud -- her comrade-in-arms, her  _ friend _ \-- lying limply in the arms of a man she once called an enemy. Unbidden, a feeling of irritation and indignation makes her clench her fists. Whoever has deigned to take her fellow Scions will most likely get punched in the face.

“There you are!” Alisaie’s voice brings Botan out of her mindscape and the Raen turns. For a split-second, she swears she sees Alphinaud’s face flash in her mind, but goes as quickly as it comes. “You look like you need someone to talk to,” Alisaie says as she walks up. Though she’s smiling, Botan can tell it’s somewhat forced. She can’t blame her friend, what with everything that has happened in the past few days. 

Botan returns her gaze to the sea as the air suddenly becomes breezy and chillier. At first, she does not know what to say, and the words come slowly. She does not wish to further burden Alisaie, but at the same time… “...These thefts of our friends’ souls have left me… rattled, and I do not know what to do.” The sentence feels akin to swallowing a sour fruit, the admittance of infallibility uncomfortable and strange. She senses Alisaie shift beside her, but Botan keeps her gaze forward. There is silence, then; “...Our friends, or Alphinaud?”

Botan does look then, with a surprised look and a raised brow. Alisaie huffs. “What? I can be observant too, you know. You barely reacted when everyone else collapsed, but when you saw Alphinaud’s…  _ condition _ ,” the Red Mage grimaces at the word, “you actually looked scared.”

...Hm. “I never thought you incapable of insightfulness. But, yes, Alphinaud worries me the most, I’ll not lie.”

Alisaie hums and takes her turn to look at the rising tide. “Not that surprising. From what he told me, you two have been through a lot together.”

A companionable silence falls over them. Botan’s instincts tell her she shouldn’t let the conversation end there, but she once again finds herself struggling to find the right words. “...Alphinaud will be okay,” she finally says, letting her heart take over in place of her head for once. Alisaie’s expression becomes rather somber, and Botan can feel her gaze boring into her skull. 

The warrior starts as she feels her hand being wrapped in another’s --  _ oh, just Alisaie _ \-- and looks at her friend quizzically. She gets a kind, knowing smile in turn as Alisaie’s grasps her hand more firmly. “Yes. He will be. He has to.”

Botan nods. She is thankful that she’s found another person to rely on.


End file.
